


the right guy in a bull costume

by greatgendry (wintersend)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween, gendry is a sexy bull, you know... the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersend/pseuds/greatgendry
Summary: She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his lips and hands and face, and how weak they made her feel since the party, hence her mad search for the right guy in a bull costume. Usually, she’s not this desperate for boys but there was something about him that… She can’t really explain it but all her instincts are telling her to find him.





	the right guy in a bull costume

**Author's Note:**

> a bit late but I hope everyone had a great Halloween!
> 
> this is based on this prompt: _strangers who hooked up at a party while in costume but tbh i might be in love with you so i’m gonna walk this earth looking for the right woodland nymph costume_

“This is impossible,” Arya groans, hand to her head as she stares at her coffee rather than her sister’s smug smile.

It was not her wisest decision to include her in this. But after a week of searching for her mysterious Bull without any results, she’s finally swallowed her pride and asked Sansa, the one who dragged her to that stupid costume party in the first place. Sansa has proved to be useless in the matter but was rather pleased with the fact that her little sister, notoriously uninterested in dating, was now apparently so taken with a guy, she was willing to humiliate herself to find him. If this is the universe’s idea of a joke, Arya is not laughing.

“Someone has to know who he is.”

“Margaery might,” Sansa says, checking the time on her watch, then scanning the coffee shop to look for the girl in question. “She’ll be here soon.”

In truth, Arya would be glad if this little incident could be kept a secret between her and Sansa, and isn’t really eager to share the details of her love life with Margaery, but she knew what she was getting into when she confessed to Sansa. Plus, Sansa is right – Margaery knows everyone and it had been her party. If she doesn’t know him, no one will.

Arya contemplates that, and whether all this fuss over some guy is really worth it – but _gods_ , she remembers with clarity the way he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her so fervently she nearly lost her mind, and she can barely repress a shudder at the memory. Worth it or not, she’s in too deep and it’s obvious. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his lips and hands and face, and how weak they made her feel since the party, hence her mad search for the right guy in a bull costume. Usually, she’s not this desperate for boys but there was something about him that… She can’t really explain it but all her instincts are telling her to find him.

Which proves to be almost impossible since she doesn’t know his name and no one else at the stupid party seems to know him either.

Margaery shows up – Sansa’s friend? Girlfriend? Friend with benefits? Arya isn’t sure and doesn’t really care – and gives Sansa a kiss on the cheek before greeting Arya. She barely sits down next to Sansa when the redhead is already grinning mischievously, and saying, “You’ll never guess what Arya did.”

Margaery raises her eyebrows curiously and Arya rolls her eyes. “I regret telling you anything.”

“Oh, hush. Do you want to find him or not?”

“Find who?”

“The Bull,” Arya sighs in defeat, figuring it’s best to just get it over with. And it’s definitely best she tells the story and not Sansa. “The guy in the bull costume at the party,” she adds when Margaery stares blankly.

He was dressed in a black bull costume which really shouldn’t have been sexy but somehow it was. Perhaps because he was wearing no shirt, just a mask with horns and pants with a tail. Leather pants, to be specific, which hugged the shape of his ass rather nicely. It had been a bet he lost to his friend, he explained to her when they started talking. If only she could remember his friend’s name…

Ridiculous costume aside, he was definitely a sight to behold and Arya knew she wasn’t the only who noticed him. Why he chose to go home with her of all people, she’s not sure but she’s not complaining.

“Do you know him?” she asks Margaery, barely able to contain the hope in her voice.

“Hmmm.” Margaery stares into space, contemplative, then shakes her head. “No. I know he was hot, though. With a capital H.”

“She knows that too.” Sansa smirks suggestively, the little traitor. When Margaery turns her questioning gaze to her, she mock-whispers, “She slept with him.”

Arya wants to get up and leave but settles for taking a long sip of her coffee while staring up at the ceiling and hoping for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

“And you don’t know his name?” Margaery asks in surprise, but there’s no judgement in her voice, just amusement.

Arya rolls her eyes again as she leans back in her chair. “No. I do not. He gave me his number in the morning but… I might have lost it.”

She had been in a hurry, already late for brunch with her family and scrambling to get dressed while he wrote his number on a piece of paper. He pushed it into her hand as she saw him to the door, and though she distinctively remembers tucking it in her pocket, by the end of the day it was gone. And now here she is.

“Oh, gods, Arya.”

“Well, I didn’t do it on purpose!” she exclaims, defensive. She feels exasperated with the whole situation, and with Sansa and Margaery, but most of all, with herself. “And how can you not know who he is anyway? It was _your_ party.”

“Friends invite other friends, it’s the way it works. I don’t mind. The more, the merrier.”

Arya holds back a frustrated growl. It really is impossible. Not even Margaery knows him. If it wasn’t for the fact that she and Sansa saw him at the party too, Arya would have seriously wondered if he had been a figment of her imagination and if she needed medical help.

“Alright, that’s it.” She throws her hands up in the air, defeated. “I give up.”

“Aw no, _you can’t_ ,” Sansa whines, slapping her hand in a berating gesture. She’s always been more invested in Arya’s love life than Arya herself, but Arya is nothing if not stubborn and she’s not about to be swayed.

“I can and I will. Besides, it’s been more than a week, he probably thinks I’m not interested.”

She thinks about how awkward it would be to admit that she lost his number then spent the entire week looking for him – gods, what if he thinks she’s a stalker? She doesn’t think she’s a stalker but at the moment, she begins to doubt herself and she doesn’t like it. This is best left alone.

“If you want, I can ask around, see if anyone knows who invited him,” Margaery suggests graciously but Arya feels she would rather die than accept the offer.

“No. No, thanks, I’m done with this.” She shakes her head, her tone final.

She already feels ridiculous as it is. This isn’t her, she doesn’t chase after boys and boys don’t chase after her. Perhaps there is a lesson here, she thinks, a sign that she shouldn’t even try, and Arya tells herself she’s content to let it go.

If nothing else, at least he will always be a pleasant memory to remember.

* * *

A month passes and Arya goes on with her life. Sometimes, in her quiet moments, she can still recall his strikingly blue eyes gazing into her own as he moved inside her, but mostly, she’s too busy with work and family to truly ponder about what could have been.

Margaery throws a party around Thanksgiving and Sansa doesn’t have to try too hard to convince her to go. But the Bull is not there and whatever disappointment she feels at the discovery, she quickly smothers. She tells herself he’s not the reason she came but goes home pretty quickly, complaining about a headache, and ignoring Sansa’s pout when she tells her.

After that, she makes an effort not to think about him anymore. She’s already wasted too much time chasing a phantom.

But then, as if the universe decides it has toyed with her enough, her car starts acting up, making strange noises and taking at least three-four tries to start. When none of her brothers can tell her what exactly is wrong with it, she takes it to nearest repair shop to get it checked.

And when the guy there rolls out from under a car to greet her, Arya can only gape.

It’s him, her Bull. Not wearing a bull costume anymore, obviously, but she would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. It hasn’t been _that_ long. (And she’s dreamt about him more times than she’d care to admit.)

She’s too stunned to speak for a second, having never expected to see him again. After all that trouble she went to find him, it almost feels like a joke that they meet again by accident.

He recognizes her too, she can tell by the way his eyes widen and he stops to gawk at her.

She wonders if she should explain herself, if there’s any point to it anymore. Either way, this could get very awkward very fast.

But after the initial moment of shock wears off, he just smiles, good-natured, and quickly wipes his stained hands on a dirty rag. Despite his efforts, his fingers are still black with oil and she can see faded marks on his face as well. It’s strangely attractive.

“How can I help, m’lady?” he asks and the question breaks the ice.

“Don’t call me that,” she scowls with her arms folded across her chest, a kneejerk reaction.

His lips twitch. “Sorry, m’lady. What should I call you then? I don’t think I ever got your name.”

 _Clever_.

“Arya,” she introduces herself but before she could ask his, he goes on.

“Well, Arya, what can I help you with?”

There’s a flirty smirk on his face, almost like he’s challenging her to counter his question with some stupid pick-up line, and though she would very much like to live up to his expectation, her car really does need assistance.

So she tells him the problem and watches as he pops up the hood and pokes around under it. He’s not what she thought he would be like – there’s no resentment that she didn’t call, no lewd gazes most men would feel entitled to since he’s seen her naked, no embarrassment or discomfort over their one-night stand. The natural way he acts around her is both surprising and appreciated.

And by the gods, he’s still wickedly attractive. Her memory didn’t do him justice, she decides, as she unabashedly stares at his bulging muscles while he assesses her car.

 _Not just a sexy bull, a sexy mechanic too,_ she thinks with a twist of her lips.

“What?” he asks and she realizes she probably said that aloud.

Flushing, she immediately averts her gaze and mumbles, “Nothing.”

He quickly finds the source of the problem and tells her he can have it fixed by next Tuesday, but she lingers even after they’re finished. It would be wrong to let this opportunity go.

Here goes nothing, she thinks and begins, “You know, I meant to call you. I just... kinda lost your number.”

He actually laughs, then shakes his head. His look is disbelieving. “That's okay. You don't owe me anything.”

“No, it's the truth, I swear. And fuck, you're impossible to find!” she exclaims, the frustration she felt at failing to find him seeping into her voice.

 “I mean,” she continues when he raises his eyebrows at her in question, “no one knew your name, no one knew who you were… And believe me, I asked.”

“You did?” He grins, and there’s something smug and pleased in his voice. “You asked after me?”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes at his antics but it doesn’t stop him from grinning. To be fair, it’s a nice sight. “How is it that no one there knew you?”

“I knew almost no one there,” he admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “My friend, Hot Pie, invited me. I usually wouldn’t have gone but I had to because of the bet, remember?”

He pauses and gives her a long appraising look. It feels playful, not at all creepy or unwanted like with most men, and her cheeks redden with pleasure.

“Now I don’t mind that at all.”

“Hot Pie?” Now that she thinks about it, she recalls the name as the friend who made him dress up as a sexy bull. She should do something nice for the guy if she ever meets him.

“Yeah. I think he was invited by his friend too. Probably why you couldn’t find me.”

“Yeah, that does makes things a tad difficult.”

“Sorry, m’lady.”

But his smug smile tells her he’s anything but.

“Arya,” she corrects him, her tony icy.

“Arya,” he repeats with purpose, slow and deliberate. Fuck, it sounds good on his lips, and by the look on his face, he knows it.

“If I give you my number again,” he begins, his eyes twinkling playfully, “promise you won't lose it?”

She chews on her lips, pretending to think about it.

“Probably. But just to be safe, I'm saving it in my phone this time.”

“Good idea,” he says and Arya pays careful attention to the numbers he gives her and double checks to make sure they match.

Though, she supposes, now she knows where to find him.

She leaves with his number and a promise to have her car ready by Tuesday, and she gives him her own promise that she’ll call soon.

It’s only when she gets home that she realizes she saved his number as the Bull, still uninformed of his name.

No matter. It’ll be the first thing she asks when she calls him later.

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about cars, I can’t even drive, so I just… bullshited my way through that part, sorry


End file.
